


The Meet Cute

by iam93percentstardust



Series: Cap-Iron Man 2019 Bingo [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iam93percentstardust/pseuds/iam93percentstardust
Summary: Steve isn't entirely certain how he keeps ending up paired with Tony but as long as Tony keeps looking at him like this, he's not complaining.Or 5 times Steve and Tony had to act like they were in a rom com for the mission, 1 time they got it horribly wrong, and 1 time they got it wonderfully, beautifully right
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Cap-Iron Man 2019 Bingo [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448557
Comments: 85
Kudos: 544
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	1. Winter 2011

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cap-Iron Man bingo prompt S-1: Romantic comedy  
> And that's a bingo for me! Yay!  
> Warnings for the chapter: brief mention of suicidal thoughts at the beginning of the chapter

Fury’s apparently sent a car to pick them up from the gym. They’re walking out when the director passes him a folder. It’s got the SHIELD logo stamped across the front, the words “Avengers Initiative” underneath. Steve flips it open to see a picture of a young woman dressed in a black skintight suit with flaming red hair.

He doesn’t know who she is but, as he flips through the other pages, he realizes that he can guess. “This is my team?” he asks.

Fury gives a short nod. “Natasha Romanoff,” he says. “Ex-Soviet, now works for SHIELD.”

He keeps talking but Steve’s not listening anymore. He’s paused on a picture of a man, bright brown eyes, fluffy hair, and the sort of manic energy that makes itself known even in a photograph. “Who’s this?” he interrupts.

Fury pauses in his explanation of… well, Steve’s not sure who. He doesn’t think he’s still talking about Natasha Romanoff but the last thing he’d heard was her name and then he’d tuned out. “Tony Stark,” Fury says. “Iron Man.” He gives him a shrewd look. “Why?”

“I know him.”

“Yeah, you would. That’s Howard’s kid. Twice as clever but don’t tell him I said that. His ego’s big enough as is.”

Steve frowns. The man _does_ look like Howard, has that same devil-may-care grin, but that’s not why he knows him.

* * *

_Six Months Ago_

Steve comes out of the ice on a Tuesday. Fury finds him in Times Square, tells him that he’s been asleep for seventy years, and advises him to take a few months off to adjust to the new time period. Steve spends one day wandering Brooklyn because he’s clearly a masochist and one day sitting at a café sketching a phallic looking tower that he doesn’t recognize from his earlier life (at one point, a red and gold robot flies overhead and his heart aches as he realizes how much Bucky would have loved the future). By Friday, he’s back in Fury’s office pleading for another mission.

Fury tries to talk him out of it, tries to tell him to take more time off, but Steve refuses each offer. He doesn’t tell him that he thinks he might walk off the side of a building if he has to sit in his apartment one more day and think about what he’s lost.

Two months later, he’s bouncing from mission to mission, spending the entirety of his free time in an old-style gym he finds a few blocks from his new apartment. He suspects that the gym is SHIELD-run because Brooklyn seems to be entirely skinny guys with bad haircuts and girls wearing flannels and fake glasses these days and everyone who frequents his gym is big and burly and way too good at boxing to be anything other than an agent. He doesn’t say anything though. The gym’s open late and even though it painfully reminds him of the 40s, he likes the style.

Besides, who would he tell? Everyone he wants to talk to is dead.

Fury hands him a file one day. Steve flips it open on his way out the door. He skims, stops less than two steps from Fury’s door, and turns around.

“Sir, this is a reconnaissance mission,” he points out.

Fury raises one eyebrow. “And?”

“Well- sir- I-” He stops. He’s not the person people pick for reconnaissance missions. He’s not the kind of person who blends into the background, not after he got the serum and not even really before.

There’s an uncomfortable look of pity in Fury’s one good eye. Steve ducks his head. He’s tired of people looking at it like that. He got a shitty hand, sure, but it had happened. The best he can do is now try to move on from it- or at least, look like it.

“You’ll be fine,” Fury tells him. “I’m sending a senior agent with you. He’s in your file.

* * *

He meets Clint Barton only a few steps down the hall as the man literally rolls out of an air vent near the ceiling. Oddly enough, he’s snoring so Steve fully expects him to hit the ground in a crumpled heap but he lands in a crouch and dusts himself off.

“I meant to do that,” the man says casually. He holds out his hand for Steve to shake. “Clint Barton. I think I’m in there.”

He jerks a thumb at the folder Steve’s holding. Steve glances from him to the folder and flips to the back where Fury’s provided the dossier on the other agent working the case with him. Sure enough, Clint’s picture is provided in the corner along with a list of his abilities and a few of his past cases.

Steve resumes walking as he skims the page. He reads over the words _Gifted in fifteen fighting styles_ and _Trained in espionage_ and then raises his eyes to watch as Clint trips over thin air- or maybe it was a dust particle. Steve’s not sure.

“You don’t have to act around me,” he says.

Clint glances at him. “What?” he asks. “Oh, sorry.” He reaches up to his ear, where Steve notes some sort of earpiece, and fiddles with it. “Turned off my hearing aids for my nap.”

“It’s an act,” Steve says. “You can stop now.”

Clint grins lopsidedly at him. “Enh,” he grunts. “Keeps the baby agents on their toes. So where are we off to?”

Steve flips the folder back open. “A coffeeshop,” he states aloud. “Downtown Manhattan.”

Clint takes the folder from him and skims it. Steve runs a hand over his face. He’s got the beginnings of a beard. It still feels a little weird. He hadn’t been able to grow one before the serum and during the war, all standard kits were equipped with a razor so it’s new to come off an undercover mission in Bolivia and realize that he’s got a beard coming in.

“Possible Maggia front,” Clint reads. He catches the confused furrow on Steve’s brow and continues, “Like the Mafia but worse. A lot worse. Fury likes to try and cut them off whenever they pop up but he doesn’t normally tackle ‘em this fast.”

“What’s the address?” Steve asks, thinking of possible reasons for Fury moving in so quickly.

“205 Park Avenue,” Clint replies. “Oh- it’s near Stark Tower. Fury probably doesn’t want them near Stark.”

“Stark?”

“Yeah,” Clint says distractedly. He winks at a pretty redhead walking in the opposite direction (she rolls her eyes). “Electronics and robotics company but their last shareholders meeting announced that they’re moving into clean energy or something like that.”

“Oh,” Steve says quietly. Not related to Howard then; Howard had been moving into weapons the last time he saw him.

Clint turns a page in the file. “Hey, how good’s your latte art?”

“My what?”

* * *

They spend three months working at the coffeeshop. The horrors of working in retail and customer service are nothing new. People apparently haven’t changed much in the seventy years he was in the ice. He gets pretty good at latte art, excellent at remember regulars’ names, and terrible at managing the occasional assholes who come into the shop and expect faster service just because they’re rich.

The owner laughs hysterically when he sees the dent in the wall made by the guy who grabbed Katie’s ass as she was dropping off his coffee. “That’s gonna be hell to explain,” he says.

“Sorry,” Steve offers, not sorry at all.

The owner just waves him off. “Did he deserve it?”

“Yep.”

“It’s fine. I know firsthand how bad these guys can be. Just don’t let it happen again.” (It happens again three more times but Steve always makes sure to throw them into the same spot on the wall).

* * *

He and Clint end up deciding that the coffeeshop is decidedly not a Maggia front and that the men frequenting it happen to be a coincidence. Clint puts in his two weeks’ notice about a week before Steve does. The last week without him is a lot quieter. Clint as an agent has a very quiet presence (when he’s not acting out to “keep the baby agents on their toes”) but Clint undercover is loud and bumbling and cheerful. He fills a room. Steve isn’t entirely certain which version of Clint he likes better- or which one is actually real- but it is definitely an experience working at the café without him around.

It’s his last day working there and Steve’s just barely opened the shop when the front door slams open. It bounces off the wall and nearly rebounds into the face of the man opening the shop.

Steve starts to reach out a hand to help but then realizes he’s all the way on the other side of the room and can’t do much from there. It doesn’t matter though because the man manages to dodge the door. It takes Steve a moment to recognize him but he does eventually place him as one of the regulars. It’s just odd seeing him there at six in the morning when he usually shows up just before closing. He looks manic and bright and awake, a far cry from the usual exhausted circles under his eyes. Katie says he’s a fantastic tipper. Steve wouldn’t know; he’s never personally served the man.

The man traipses up to the counter, gaze fixed on his phone. “Morning, Katie, my love,” he says. “Usual please.”

“Not Katie,” Steve says. “And I don’t know what your usual is.”

It takes a moment for the voice to register in the man’s mind and then he slowly raises his eyes to meet Steve’s. They widen a little in shock, then narrow, then turn dark and heated. Steve catches his breath. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at him like that (he thinks it might have been the blonde SSR agent who’d kissed him). For a moment, it’s a little surprising seeing that look from a man but then he remembers the files Fury had given him on LGBT rights. Things have changed since his time and entirely for the better.

“Hello, darling,” the man purrs. “You must be new here.”

Steve’s offended for all of a second and then he thinks about the clear exhaustion that’s usually dripping from every line of the man’s body and the way it had often seemed like the promise of coffee was the only thing keeping him standing.

“Nope,” he says amusedly.

The man looks at him confusedly. “No? I think I’d remember seeing someone like you.”

Steve has to fight to keep the blush from his face. “I wouldn’t. You’ve been pretty tired every other time you’ve come in here.”

The man grins at him. “Aw,” he croons. “You remembered me.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say, “Pretty people aren’t hard to remember.”

His grin grows wider. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Your beard!” Steve blurts out. “I like- it’s the- I’m just digging myself into a hole, aren’t I?” He drops his head into his hands.

“It’s okay,” the man says and leans across the counter.

“Would it help if I said I’m an artist?” Steve asks, voice muffled.

He can practically _hear_ the delight in the man’s voice as he says, “You think I’m pretty enough for art?”

“You must know-” Steve begins and then raises his head. For the most part, the man looks incredibly smug as Steve expected but there’s the faintest hint of awe in his expression like he really doesn’t know how he looks. “Yeah, I do,” he finishes quietly.

The smile on the man’s face turns small and private. “I’m Tony,” he says.

Steve starts to answer with his name and then it all comes crashing down on him. He’s living a lie. This- this- _whatever_ it is- isn’t real. He can’t actually have this. The smile that he hadn’t realized he’s wearing disappears from his face.

He turns abruptly and grabs a coffee cup. They only carry one size here so it isn’t hard to pick one. “Your order?” he asks gruffly as his back is still turned.

It takes a long moment for Tony to say anything. There’s a line of decorative metallic plates along the back counter and, in the reflection of one of them, he can see the confusion and then disappointment cross Tony’s face.

“Oh,” Tony says softly, so softly that Steve, even with his hearing, has to strain to hear him.

He closes his eyes briefly. “Your order?” he repeats.

“Actually,” Tony begins and Steve’s heart drops. “I think I’ll skip the coffee today. Sorry to bother you.”

The bell above the door tinkles.


	2. Summer 2012

He doesn’t see Tony again until they’re in Germany. Tony’s eyes widen as soon as he takes off his cowl in the plane and Steve knows that he recognizes him but Tony doesn’t say anything until they’re leaving the shawarma place. They’re all headed back to Stark Tower as Tony has offered them the use of his place until they’ve seen Thor and Loki off.

“We could leave now,” Thor points out.

“Or you could take the night off,” Tony counters. “You look like you’re about to keel over. Loki’s not going anywhere with all of us watching him.”

Thor only puts up the token amount of resistance before he accepts Tony’s offer. Thor’s leading the way, hauling Loki next to him. Steve’s right behind him, followed by Tony and Bruce who are discussing the new plans for the helicarrier (Tony’s insisting on a different mechanism than the large fans to keep it in the air and Steve hides a smile), and then Natasha and Clint behind them.

There’s the sound of quickening steps behind him and then Tony falls into step behind him. “So not a barista, hmm?” he murmurs.

Steve can’t read the tone in his voice so he just asks, “Disappointed?”

“Depends on why you were there.”

“Mission for Fury. He thought the café might be a front for some mob.”

“Not investigating SI then?”

This time, he can tell that Tony’s voice is deceptively light. “Should we be?” he returns.

He casts a sidelong look at Tony just in time to see his mouth twist. “I think Fury’s done that enough. Right, Natalie?” Tony says, raising his voice. He glances back at Natasha. Steve does too and understands why Tony calls her a different name the moment he sees the glare on her face.

They’re silent for the rest of the long walk back to the tower. The team congregates in the living room as Tony brings up a schematic of the residential floors and points them in the directions of their rooms. They separate until it’s just Steve and Tony in the room. There’s a crisp breeze coming in through the shattered windows. There’s the crunch of glass underfoot as he makes his way toward the elevator.

“You’ll have to renovate,” Steve says. His voice is too loud in the otherwise silent room. He winces.

Tony doesn’t seem to notice his reaction as he stares unseeingly at the windows. “Tony?” he asks.

Tony shakes himself. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah, guess so.” He sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. “Couldn’t even keep it nice for three days.”

He can see Tony dying to say something so he waits patiently. “Could completely remodel,” Tony says eventually. “The arrangements right now, they could be permanent. You’d have to leave for a few weeks but you could come back.”

“I’m leaving anyway,” Steve says.

Tony’s face falls. It takes a moment for him to think through what he’d said that could have disappointed him but then it hits him. “Not- not like that,” he hurries to say. “It’s- I just wanted to get out. See the country.”

There’s a carefully blank expression on Tony’s face. “You haven’t done that yet?” he asks.

“Not the way I wanted to,” Steve replies. “The USO tours were pretty much back-to-back.”

“Oh,” Tony says softly. Steve can’t help but remember the last time Tony had said that but there’s no disappointment in the billionaire’s voice right now, just a deep understanding that makes Steve wonder what he knows about bouncing from place to place. “If you want somewhere to go after you come back, place is yours.”

* * *

Steve would say that he’s not sure how they all end up living in the tower but that would be a lie. He knows exactly how, knows that Bruce moved in the day Thor left, that Natasha and Clint arrived immediately following Agent Coulson’s funeral, that he himself showed up months later after coming back from his trip around the country only to find that his apartment building had been destroyed by one of the leviathan-type things.

He likes it. He likes knowing that if he wanders out to the team floors, there’s always someone doing something with the TV, whether it’s Bruce with his marathon of all of the Academy Award Best Picture winners or Clint playing MarioKart or Natasha watching bootlegged ballets and musicals. Sometimes, on very rare ~~(very good)~~ days, Tony’s even out there, always watching something that Steve’s never seen before and always asking for Steve to join him.

He likes that there’s usually someone in the kitchen when he’s woken up by nightmares (or, well, he doesn’t like that they probably have nightmares too but it’s nice that there’s someone else up) and if there isn’t, then JARVIS is always willing to talk to him.

He likes his team, likes that Bruce is starting to open up around them, that Natasha isn’t the scary assassin she seems to be, that Clint is starting to heal from his trauma at Loki’s hands. He likes the way that the first couple of missions go completely smoothly, that even Tony, notorious for being a poor team player, listens to his directions. He’s pretty sure he’d like Thor too if the guy would ever come back.

He especially likes that after that awkward conversation they had about the things that had been said on the helicarrier, Tony has become the best friend he’s made in this century. He likes that Tony always lets him into the workshop, usually to sit in silence and sketch while Tony plays music—not loud after Steve pointed out his sensitive ears—and works. He likes the curl of Tony’s ears, his lovely brown eyes, the way he sniffs when he’s emotional, and the fact that rom coms always put him in tears.

He likes Tony.

* * *

“Speed dating, sir?” Steve asks flatly.

There’s a grim look on Fury’s face that tells Steve he should be very careful about any questions he has. “They’re calling him Cupid.”

Steve tries not to picture the face Clint would make or what Tony would say about that name.

“He’s finding couples that matched during speed dating events, kidnapping them, and torturing them.” _And then killing them_ , Steve finishes in his head. “We’re sending your team undercover.”

“And then what? Faking a match?”

“Real ones if possible but, if nothing else, Barton and Romanoff are practically drift compatible.”

“I understood that reference!” Steve says delightedly. The movie had released just last week. Clint had dragged them all out to see it instead of staying in for movie night. For the most part, it had been pretty silly but Steve had loved the concept of drift compatibility. He had, of course, thought of Natasha and Clint but also of the instinctual way he and Tony had fought together during the Battle of New York, the way they’ve been fighting in the year since then.

“Congratulations for you,” Fury says flatly. Steve’s pretty sure that he’s tired of him making a comment each time he understands the reference. He doesn’t even do it around the others anymore, just Fury so he can see what reaction he gets (and if it makes Tony giggle when he hears about, well, no one’s calling him out on it).

Fury hands him a brochure. “There’s an event tonight. I expect your team to be there.”

* * *

Natasha and Clint take the news fairly well. Steve supposes they’re probably used to weirder missions as SHIELD agents. Bruce isn’t too thrilled and Steve is about to insist on it until he realizes the trouble that could happen if the Hulk were to come out. “You can wait in the van,” he tells Bruce.

Tony, on the other hand, complains about the whole thing nonstop. “I can’t go. I’m a public figure. Everyone’s going to recognize me. Do you know how pathetic it would be for Tony Stark to be caught at an event like this? Only pathetic people go on speed dating events.”

“I went to a speed dating thing last week,” Clint protests.

Tony waves his hand frantically in Clint’s direction. “See???”

Natasha raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m not hearing anything that we can’t take care of. They make colored contacts and plenty of people wear your ridiculous beard. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Tony grumbles. “Besides, I’ve got a board meeting tonight.”

“And if I knew you were going to actually go to it, I’d let you skip speed dating,” Steve says promptly. “But you’re not going to go to it. You’re going to go back to your lab and work on the whatsamacallit.”

“The molecularly selective nanoporous membrane-based organic electrochemical wearable biosensor.”

“Yeah, that thing. The biosensor can wait until tomorrow. You’re coming, Tony.”

* * *

Tony should have just said that speed dating is the worst experience of anyone’s life because that would have convinced Steve not to go a lot easier than his excuses.

Steve looks at the fifth woman simpering over the size of his muscles and reminds himself that he’s on a mission and it would be rude to just stand up and leave anyway. He’s tried a few times to draw the people sitting across from him into a conversation about art or baseball or something other than how he looks. He’s being wholly unsuccessful.

The bell dings and he resolutely does not breathe a sigh of relief as the woman leaves him her phone number scrawled on a napkin before walking off to the next table. Fortunately, the person to sit down next is Tony.

“Not having fun?” Tony asks in a British accent that he’s adopted for the mission. Clint and Natasha had both been impressed by his skill with the voice. Steve, who has had more than one occasion to remember Howard’s butler over the course of his stay at the tower, keeps his thoughts to himself.

“Did you know that I apparently look like I have a twelve pack?” Steve asks, annoyed at the shallowness he’s seen tonight.

“I’m disappointed in you, Rogers. It’s supposed to be fourteen. Did you know that I’m the British Tony Stark?” Tony props his chin up on his hand and gazes deep into Steve’s eyes.

“Sounds terrible.” He likes this, this light teasing. Honestly, he’s not entirely sure how he lived this long without it.

“Spotted anyone yet?”

Steve takes a surreptitious glance around the bar. “Only if you’re looking for someone weird. One dame told me all about her foot fetish in extreme detail.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “I’m sure it’s right for some people but no.” He takes a drink of something. It looks bright red and fruity but Steve can smell there’s no alcohol in it. “And it’s not dame.”

“Sorry.” He is, too. He’s been trying so hard to get accustomed to the terms of the century. He doesn’t want to offend anyone. It still slips out sometimes, when he’s nervous. He eyes Tony’s drink. “Are you doing okay?”

Tony follows his gaze. “Yeah, definitely.” He starts to say something else but the bell dings and he stands up.

The rest of the night passes by too slowly. Steve’s exhausted by the end of it. He’s more than ready to go home and crawl into bed. He’s never been good with people, not even after he became Captain America, and it’s almost worse when these people don’t know who he is, just that he’s attractive. The night has been a complete bust. So he’s surprised when the organizer of the event stands up on her chair and rings the bell like crazy.

“Guess what, everybody!” she sing-songs in that annoying voice that makes Steve want to punch her. “We have our first ever 100% match! Roger Stevens and Howard Potts—”

It takes Steve a second to realize that that’s _his_ fake name she’s calling and even longer to realize that the other one is Tony. The organizer is saying something else about the connections she hopes everyone made over the night and how she’d love to hear about everyone’s happily ever afters. Steve doesn’t hear more than few words though. He’s too busy staring at Tony, who’s looking back at him with this deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“That beats me and Clint,” Natasha says dryly in his ear. “We matched 99%. Intel says that Cupid usually strikes within a few minutes of a match. So we’re going to head back to the van. You two should go out on a date or something.” She sounds like she’s trying to hold back laughter, which is still better than Clint, who’s giggling like mad.

“I know where you sleep,” Tony threatens.

“Bye, boys.”

* * *

“So 100%, huh?” Steve asks as they meander down the street.

Tony lets out a nervous little chuckle. “It’s nothing. I mean, those questionnaires that they give at the beginning are bullshit. I just wrote down whatever came to my head first. It’s not like I actually tried. Didn’t want a match with someone who’s expecting the British Tony Stark only to get the Actual Tony Stark, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says softly. He decides then that Tony can’t ever know about the small thrill of hope that had gone through him when their names had been called. He’d had his shot with Tony at that coffeeshop. He had completely blown it. What right did he have to ask for anything else?

Tony looks at him curiously. “Steve?” he asks. But Steve straightens as he sees something stirring on a rooftop two buildings down. He’s moving almost before he hears the whistle in the air. Tony hits the ground, Steve shielding him, already rolling them under the nearest car as the arrow impacts the concrete beside them and explodes.

 _Well,_ he thinks, curling tighter over Tony as the car rocks from the force of the explosion, _at least we don’t have to have_ that _conversation._


	3. Fall 2012

He finds Tony in the gym sparring with Natasha. They haven’t spoken much since the speed dating mission; Steve doesn’t really know how to feel about that. On the one hand, he’s disappointed and a little frustrated because Tony is his best friend. It doesn’t even seem like Tony’s really avoiding him, just that he’s gotten busy over the last few weeks, but every time Tony actually has a free moment, he’s always spending it with one of the other Avengers. Steve knows he doesn’t have the right to feel jealous about that because it’s not like he has any claim to the resident genius. It’s just that he misses him.

On the other hand, he’s a little relieved about the fact that they haven’t seen each other. He’s not really sure what to do with the fact that Tony is apparently his perfect match. Yes, he knows that Tony claimed that he’d just scribbled down answers but it wasn’t like they were multiple-choice questions. Tony had to have put at least a _little_ thought into them.

And if Tony’s actually his perfect match, he doesn’t really know what to do with—or how he feels about—that.

Saying that he’s never thought about it before would be a lie. Steve’s got eyes and he knows how to use them. Tony’s attractive, ridiculously so. Steve has known that since the day he met him in that coffeeshop. But there’s a lot more that goes into a relationship besides basic attraction and _that’s_ what Steve doesn’t know what to do with.

On some level, he feels that his attraction to Tony is almost a betrayal of Peggy. He knows it’s ridiculous. What he and Peggy had shared had ended seventy years ago. Peggy had certainly moved on; she shares stories about her grandchildren with him every time he goes to see her. It’s been almost a year for him. He shouldn’t have had so many problems trying to move on but he does.

Natasha says that he’s still trying to adjust to losing everything in the space of an instant.

Clint says that he can either exist in limbo or he can “grow a pair and ask Tony out.”

Steve thinks he likes Natasha’s advice better.

“Sup, Capsicle,” Tony calls. He catches the towel Natasha throws at him and wipes down his face as he steps out of the ring, snagging his water bottle as he goes. “What’s going on?”

“Fury called—”

“You know, I asked one of the interns that this morning, the high school one that likes photography, you know the one? Anyway—”

“—Tony—”

“—his answer was ‘teenage rebellion.’ And then he just stared at me like I’m supposed to say something there—”

“—Tony—”

“—so I said “good for you’ because I was a teenage rebel once, or at least I think I was—Howard certainly thought so—and this kid just looked at me like I murdered his puppy or something—”

“— _Tony! **”**_

“What?”

“Fury called. They’re sending a delegation from Earth to Asgard. Thor wants you to be there.”

“Oh.” Tony takes a long drink from his water bottle. Steve tries to avoid looking at the way his throat moves when he swallows. “Why didn’t you say so?”

* * *

“A relationship,” Steve says flatly. He seems to be doing a lot of that lately.

“Not exactly,” Fury corrects him. “More like—”

“T’hy’la,” Tony interrupts. Steve stares at him. He doesn’t think Tony’s speaking gibberish but he’s never heard the word before. It’s certainly not from any earthly language. Tony sees his confusion and explains, “ _Star Trek_. We haven’t gotten to that stage on your list yet.”

“It’s a bond,” one of the agents in the room says cheerfully in a British accent that reminds Steve painfully of Peggy. “Between warriors.”

“A very close one,” the other agent says. “It means friend, brother—”

“—Lover,” the first one finishes. Steve stills.

“Yes, thank you, Agents Fitz and Simmons,” Fury says, visibly annoyed by the interruptions.

Tony stares at the two of them for a moment. Then he turns back to Fury and asks, “Why are they here?”

“Samples,” the British agent chirps.

“Agent Simmons here is going along as a biologist to learn what she can about Asgard. Agent Fitz is going to take a closer look at their technology since our main source of weapon production has dried up.” At first, Steve thinks Fury’s talking about the Tesseract and he opens his mouth to let the director know his opinion on that. Then he sees how Fury’s glaring at Tony specifically and the way Tony is glaring back.

After a moment, Tony nudges his chin in the direction of the last agent standing in a corner. “And Tall, Dark, and Scary over there?”

“Agent Ward is there to protect Fitz and Simmons while you two are meeting with Odin.”

Steve straightens. “Asgard is our ally,” he firmly reminds Fury. “They may take offense at bringing weapons into their home.”

Fury doesn’t seem concerned. “Not everyone on Asgard is a friend. I’m sure I don’t need to remind the two of you what Asgardians are capable of.”

Steve frowns. This is exactly why they _shouldn’t_ be bringing weapons into Asgard. They had gotten lucky with the Chitauri but Asgard seemed far more advanced. He can’t imagine how much more damage they would be capable of wreaking.

There’s a light touch to his arm. He looks down to see Tony, who gives him a minute shake of his head. Steve backs away, letting him pull him into a corner. “We have to pick our battles. I’m leaving the Iron Man armor here,” Tony murmurs, throwing a quick glance in Fury’s direction. “Natasha’s already on site to pick it up. You can leave the shield. If nothing else, it’ll reassure Odin that at least Earth’s leaders don’t threaten war.”

Steve nods, still a little uncomfortable at the thoughts of bringing weapons into friendly territory but understanding the wisdom of Tony’s words. Even so—“I’ve never picked a battle before in my life,” he whispers.

Tony snorts amusedly. “You have. You just happened to pick all of them.” Steve grins ruefully, matched by Tony’s bright smile. They turn back to Fury, Tony asking, “I’m still not seeing the necessity of this relationship.”

Fury sighs. “It’s not a—”

Tony waves an airy hand. “I know. Not a relationship. But we don’t have anything better to call it. So for now…”

“Asgard values the bond between warriors,” Simmons says. “It’s the deepest relationship an Asgardian can have outside of marriage.”

“Do we have to explain to you why we chose you two specifically or can we get going?” Fury growls.

Tony looks like he wants to ask for the specific explanation, if only to see the vein on Fury’s temple pop, but Steve lays his own hand on Tony’s shoulder. “We’re ready.”

There’s a crack like thunder and then the world dissolves into rainbow light.

* * *

The thing is, it’s comfortable, this “relationship” with Tony. Asgardians have a much closer relationship with their “brothers of war,” as Thor puts it, than traditional Earth friendships. After two hours of observing the way Thor interacts with the Warriors Three, Tony and Steve adjust to fit expectations. They’re constantly touching, whether it’s a hand on the other’s shoulder or leaning up against them when they’re seated around the conference table. Tony’s always been generous with the nicknames but he goes overboard with them, matching every single one of Thor’s “my friends” with “Winghead” and Steve tosses it right back at him with a hastily thought up “Shellhead” that makes Tony smile bright as the sun each time he hears it.

After dinner, Thor invites them back to his quarters to share stories about past battles. Steve’s a little tipsy off of Asgardian mead so when Tony reclines back against the arm of the sofa and throws his socked feet into Steve’s lap, he doesn’t hesitate to dig his thumb in against the ball of Tony’s foot. Tony stiffens, stealing a quick glance at Fandral who’s lounging like a cat across Hogun and Volstagg and at Thor who’s seated on the floor so Sif can put intricately tiny braids in his hair.

None of them are paying any attention to Steve and Tony other than to ask Steve about his battles with the many headed hydra. “It wasn’t a creature,” Steve protests, digging his thumb in again. There’s a knot there that he’s certain is bothering Tony. What good is all his strength if he can’t use some of it to help his friend feel better? Tony steals one more glance at the Asgardians but when Steve’s other hand moves up to massage his calf, he relaxes fully into the couch, letting out a very soft moan.

For a brief instant, Steve’s hands still as he tries very hard to keep from thinking about Tony making that sound in any other setting.

Tony glares at him, shoving his leg back into Steve’s hands insistently. “Well, sorry, Your Majesty,” Steve says dryly, hands starting to move again.

Tony harrumphs. “I guess you’re forgiven but only— _Oh!_ ” he gasps as the knot in his foot gives way. “I don’t even remember the last time that didn’t hurt.”

“Feel free to come to me any time,” Steve murmurs. He steals a glance at Tony. The genius has all but melted into the couch, purring as Steve massages out the tension in his leg. He looks back down, catching Thor’s thoughtful gaze as he turns away.


	4. Spring 2013

They’re running down a lavishly decorated hallway, covers blown to hell, Fisk’s men after them. Tony’s flagging beside him. The arc reactor makes it difficult to run for long periods of time on good days and today is definitely not a good day. Steve casts a worried look at him, wishing not for the first time that he’d been able to bring his shield.

“You doing okay?” he asks.

“No,” Tony pants, which just goes to show how exhausted he is if he’s not even trying to hide his weariness.

They skid around a corner. Steve nearly topples over a suit of armor and Tony comes to a stop. “Look, this isn’t working,” Tony says. He runs a tired hand through his hair. Steve cocks his head to the side, listening. He can hear their pursuers somewhere behind them but it’s at least a few corridors back.

He looks back at Tony, deciding immediately that he doesn’t like the calculating, thoughtful expression on his face. “What?”

“I’m really sorry about this,” Tony begins, worrying Steve further. “But we’re running out of options.”

He shoves Steve up against the wall, knocking a sconce down. It clatters loudly but Steve only has half a second to worry about the noise before Tony is pressed up against him, kissing him. It’s hot and fierce as Tony takes advantage of Steve’s astonishment to slide his tongue into his mouth. Steve moans and kisses him back. He’s been dreaming about this for weeks and now that it’s happening, he can hardly believe it’s real.

His hands come up to clutch at Tony’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. Tony groans, a low, deep sound that reverberates through Steve’s bones. Steve can’t help but wonder what other noises he can draw out of the billionaire. In a flash, he turns them around, slamming Tony back into the wall. Tony keens as Steve sucks on his tongue, rolling his hips up, needy and wanton. Steve insinuates his knee in between Tony’s thighs to give him something to rub up against.

He drags his lips away from Tony’s, thinking that this might be the one and only time that he gets to do this. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of it. His mouth trails across the line of Tony’s jaw, down to his ear where he nips at the lobe and hiding a grin when Tony’s hips jerk into his.

“Unfair,” Tony whispers, trailing off into a whimper as Steve bites at the spot just below his ear.

“Fast learner,” Steve corrects and bites again.

His hands come up to loosen Tony’s tie so he can move down to the graceful curve of Tony’s neck, sucking a dark mark into it. Tony moans, his head falling back. Steve gets a hand behind Tony’s head just in time to keep it from thumping against the wall.

There’s the pounding of feet somewhere off to the side of them and shouts of where the intruders might have gone. Steve tenses, ready to launch himself at Fisk’s men, but Tony lunges up to catch his lips in a deep kiss and writhes sinuously. Steve finds himself unable to do much of anything but return the kiss, clutching Tony to him and moving his hips with Tony’s.

There’s a low chuckle from the men at the end of the hallway. Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up on a lewd comment. But other than that, they seem wholly uninterested in the couple standing in the darkened area of the hall. They move on, yelling into their radios that this area is clear.

He stays locked in this embrace with Tony for a few more moments before slowly pulling away to rest his forehead against Tony’s. The billionaire’s lips are kiss-swollen and flushed pink. Steve thinks that he’s never looked prettier. The thought keeps running through his mind that he wants to keep Tony looking like this for the rest of his life, no matter the consequences. He starts to tilt his head again, intent on one more kiss but Tony pulls away, slipping from his arms.

He busies himself with straightening up, even though his shirt is hopelessly wrinkled and his hair looks like a bird’s nest. “Sorry,” Tony says again, avoiding Steve’s eye. “Won’t happen again.”

Steve feels a little adrift. He’s had this epiphany—not even life-changing because it just feels so natural—that he wants to date Tony and Tony just looks like this whole affair was one big chore.

“Right,” Steve affirms slowly, wondering why Tony won’t look at him. He swallows down his crushed heart. “Just for the mission.”

Tony’s hands pause on his buttons. Steve doesn’t even remember undoing them but each newly fastened button makes him want to cry with how unfair it is.

“Yeah,” Tony says eventually, sounding unhappy for whatever reason. “For the mission.”


	5. Late Spring 2013

It starts with a simple recon mission. Just Nat heading out to a hotel in Paris to keep an eye on possible HYDRA activity, dragging Clint with her as backup. It starts out there. She calls less than sixteen hours later, requesting backup from Steve and Tony.

“Nothing concrete yet,” she says. “But we may need to move fast.”

So Tony makes a few phone calls, discovers that the only other available room with a view of the office building HYDRA’s hiding in is the honeymoon suite, and promptly draws up a fake marriage certificate. Steve signs it, feeling a little like he’s signing his doom. The truth of the matter is that Steve’s rapidly coming to the realization that if Tony were to approach him with an actual marriage license—or heck, even a ring—he’d say yes in a heartbeat. But that’s not what Tony’s doing. That will _never_ be what Tony’s doing.

Because Tony’s not in love with him.

Life really sucks sometimes.

They’re in Paris a day later and they’re still there two weeks after that, watching the building across the street, Tony complaining about how he thinks Nat should be working faster than this. Steve doesn’t say anything, mostly because he agrees. He wants this weird limbo of being so close to having everything that he wants over too, if only for a different reason than Tony.

The worst part is the bed.

There’s only one. It’s large and circular and in the middle of the room so that no matter where Steve looks, his eye is always drawn to it.

“I warn you,” Tony had said on that first night. “I’m a cuddleslut.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just take the floor,” Steve had quickly replied.

Something had flashed across Tony’s face, something almost hurt, but that carefully blank expression had replaced it only moments later. “Right. Of course. Silly…” and then he’d trailed off into mutterings that even Steve couldn’t pick up.

The floor is uncomfortable, despite having the softest, most plush carpet imaginable (because Tony wouldn’t pay for anything cheaper). He’s pretty sure that the discomfort is all in his head because he wants to be up on the bed. He wants to be wrapped around Tony or have Tony wrapped around him. He wants to be so close they’re sharing the same breath.

He’s so desperate for it that when Tony gives him this hesitant expression at the end of the first week and asks if Steve wants to switch places so that he can sleep on the bed, Steve just looks at him before offering, “Or we could just share.”

Tony looks at him completely nonplussed. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s a complete turnaround from what Steve had said at the beginning of the week. But he’s aching to have Tony beside him. He’s so close, within grabbing reach, but he keeps turning down every opportunity to change that and tonight won’t really be any different. They’ll still wake up and go their separate ways. But it’s like that kiss, that wonderful, _perfect_ kiss that Steve is still thinking about even though it’s been nearly six weeks. He wants this one chance to have Tony next to him, maybe even in his arms.

They go to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, Tony apologizing profusely that they probably won’t stay that way. Tony drops off to sleep quickly. Steve, on the other hand, is awake long enough for a small, warm body to press up against his side. Then, lulled by the sensation of Tony’s chest rising and falling against his ribs, he drifts off.

* * *

He wakes once when a leg lands over his. Blinking his eyes open, he finds that Tony is still mostly pressed against his side but his head is resting on Steve’s chest and his leg is thrown over both of Steve’s. Steve is pretty sure that this is an instance where he should either wake Tony up or physically move him but he doesn’t want to.

Instead, he goes back to sleep.

* * *

He wakes again because there’s hair in his mouth. He has apparently shifted onto his side and is now cuddled up to Tony from behind, his front pressed against Tony’s back. Tony’s head is tucked under his chin. It feels so good, so _right_ , that all Steve thinks is, _So that’s why there was hair in my mouth_ , and then falls asleep again.

* * *

Morning sunlight is streaming in through the crack in the curtains. Steve takes a moment to silently curse whoever designed hotel curtains so that they couldn’t fully close and then opens his eyes.

He’s lying on his back once again though this time, Tony is fully draped across his chest. Tony is already awake, head pillowed on his crossed arms, and watching Steve intently. When he sees that Steve is awake, he gives him a very soft, sweet smile. He looks beautiful like this, hair tousled from sleep, eyes still soft from dreams, drenched in sunlight.

“I warned you,” Tony murmurs.

“You did,” Steve agrees. Then, brain still muzzy from sleep, he continues, “Morning sweetheart,” and leans up to brush a gentle kiss across Tony’s lips. The moment hangs there, suspended in air, and then shatters as Tony gasps, eyes widening in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts out. He scrambles to get away from the genius, all but dumping Tony off the side of the bed. “Sorry! I just—I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to.” He stops, gathering up a jacket. His brain is racing. _This_ is why he didn’t want to sleep with Tony. _This_ is everything that he’s ever wanted—and everything that he’s feared since the moment he found himself in love with Tony Stark.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, backing away toward the door. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

Tony’s eyes go big and hurt. “A _mistake_?” he repeats. “Steve, this wasn’t a mistake. Steve—wait! Steve!”

“Sorry,” he says one last time, feeling for the doorknob behind him. He wrenches the door open and stumbles through it, escaping down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how the summary says 1 time they got it horribly wrong? This is not that time *cheerfully heaps angst on everything*


	6. Five Minutes Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the time they get it wrong

Steve spends about a minute and a half in the front lobby before he turns around and goes where he always goes when he has a problem he can’t solve. He goes to Natasha.

The problem is that Tony had that thought first. The door is slightly ajar when he gets to their floor. At first, Steve thinks someone got to Natasha and Clint. Then, as he gets closer, he realizes that the raised voices he’s hearing actually belong to Tony ranting loudly.

“—the problem is,” Natasha is saying when he draws close enough to pick out individual words.

“The problem, _Natasha_ ,” Tony all but sneers, “is that he kissed me.”

He should probably leave. It’s clearly a private conversation. Tony wouldn’t appreciate his eavesdropping.

…But they’re talking about him.

“You should have seen the look on his face,” Tony continues. Steve doesn’t move.

“Maybe you misunderstood,” she says soothingly.

Tony says icily, “It’s a little hard to misunderstand him storming out.”

“If you just _talked—”_

“I tried! He left! There’s nothing left to say. He doesn’t want—” Tony stops, making a tiny, frustrated noise. Steve can picture him running his hands through his hair. “I should go. Steve is obviously uncomfortable with me. I can—I can go back to Malibu. I’ll—”

Sharply, Natasha says, “Tony, no.”

“Yeah. This is the best solution,” Tony mumbles, clearly paying her no attention at all. “I’ll go and he won’t—”

“You being here isn’t the problem,” Natasha interrupts.

“No, the problem is that there’s no future for me and Steve. We’ll never work out. I’m me and he’s him and this _can’t_ ever work out. The problem is that one of us is in love with someone who will never love them back,” Tony snarls viciously.

Steve can’t stop himself from letting out a quiet sob. He’s known it was true for months now. Tony will never love someone like Steve—someone who’s out of touch with the future and painfully old-fashioned. Tony is everything that’s good about this future and Steve is stuck in a past that’s long gone. Yes, Steve has known for a while that he and Tony will never work together. But that doesn’t keep it from hurting any less.

He’s too distraught to notice the conversation stopping until the door swings fully open. Natasha blinks at him. “Steve?” she asks.

“Steve?!” Tony repeats, sounding far too panicked for the casually callous words he’d just been saying.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. “I shouldn’t have—I’ll just go.”

“No, wait!” Natasha blurts out and it’s like an eerie repeat of fifteen minutes ago.

Steve turns on his heel, unwilling to hear whatever Tony’s going to come up with this time, and heads for the stairs. He takes them three at a time but Natasha’s room is still twelve stories up and so when he hits the ground floor headed for the doors, Tony is right there waiting.

“Steve, please,” he pleads. “You have to listen.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Steve snaps and pushes past him. Tony lets out a small choked-off gasp of pain. Steve immediately realizes that he’d shoved too hard. Guilt flares in his stomach. Fuck, of course Tony wouldn’t want to be with someone who can’t even control his own strength.

He practically sprints for the front doors, throwing them open and escaping outside. It’s pouring down rain, hard enough that Steve can barely see more than twenty feet in front of him. The wind is howling. There’s no lightning or thunder but Steve’s certain it’s just a matter of time. It’s the kind of day where you want to curl up with your loved ones next to the fireplace and wait out the storm and power outages. But he doesn’t have a loved one. He’s alone, unloved.

“Steve!” Tony shouts above the wind.

He whips around to see Tony shivering in the rain, arms wrapped around himself. “You’ll catch your death out here. Go back inside!” he yells back because even with a broken heart, he can’t bear to think of Tony hurting too.

“Not until you do.” Tony moves closer until he’s standing right in front of Steve. He still has to talk over the rain but it’s not the shouting that it was only moments earlier. “What’s going on here?”

Steve takes a deep breath. “I’m quitting the Avengers.”

Tony steps back, looking lost and far younger than his years would seem. “You’re what? You can’t quit. We’re a team.”

“And a team shouldn’t have to worry about whether someone’s feelings are harassing them.”

Tony looks like he’s been struck. In the back of his mind, Steve feels like he’s maybe missing something, that something isn’t properly adding up, but he’s too heartbroken for it to really register.

“I didn’t mean to,” Tony whispers, the words nearly whipped away by the storm.

“Didn’t mean to what, Tony?” Steve snaps, his grief making him harsher than he means to be. But Tony’s words fail him and he takes several hitching breaths. “Fury’s been asking me to consider joining the STRIKE team and I think it’s time I said yes.”

“But you don’t have to,” Tony pleads. “ _I’ll_ leave. You don’t have to go.”

Steve gives him a small smile. “I know what the Avengers mean to you.” Everyone knows how much being a part of the team means to Tony. They mean more to him than they do to anyone else on the team except for maybe Natasha. “I won’t ask you to give them up.”

“It’s not the Avengers without you,” Tony replies, voice breaking on the last word. “Don’t do this. Please.”

Steve wants to tell him that he’ll stay. He wants to turn around and walk back inside. But he needs time, time away from Tony, time to get over his inconvenient feelings (even if his heart is telling him that he’ll never get over them). He blinks back tears and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I have to.”


	7. Summer 2014

The first time he wakes after the fall of SHIELD, Sam is there.

“On your left,” he slurs.

He can see Sam take a moment to process that before a slow, wonderous smile spreads across his face. “You son of a bitch,” he mutters but he sounds awestruck.

“Don’t call my ma that,” Steve quips. He tries to smile but it’s still painful so he grimaces instead.

“Don’t move too much,” Sam instructs him. “You took a lotta hits during that fight. Docs weren’t sure you’d even wake up.”

“Sorry.” He eyes Sam, who looks exhausted. “You been here the whole time?”

“Just the last couple of hours, swapped Stark out. You think I look tired? You should see him. Does he ever stop?”

“Tony was here?”

“The entire time. Romanoff had to practically drag him out of here.”

“Oh,” Steve says quietly, not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that Tony isn’t here now. It’s nice knowing that Tony cared enough to be at his bedside, even if he didn’t love him, but he doesn’t want him to be there out of pity. Steve’s feelings haven’t faded at all, which has continued to keep him away from the Avengers—not that they seem to be much of a team at the moment anyway. Last Steve had heard, Clint was taking an extended vacation…somewhere, Bruce was back in India, and Tony—well, Tony had indeed gone back to Malibu right up until Christmas. His heart had about stopped when he’d seen the mansion collapse into the ocean. Fury had pulled every string he had to find out if Tony was alive, just to keep Steve from hopping on the first plane to California.

“Hey, don’t look like that,” Sam says. “It’s like a federal crime or something for Captain America to look that sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Steve protests and tries to cross his arms. Something pulls in his right side, pain blossoming.

“Shit,” Sam says and presses the call button. “That’ll be the stitches.”

Steve wants to ask what stitches but Sam presses another button. His head starts feeling woozy—the room spins—everything goes fuzzy at the edges—then, blissfully, black.

* * *

The next time he wakes, Tony is sitting where Sam was. The shadows under his eyes are a lot deeper than Sam’s were and he looks like he’s lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose. “You look—” he croaks out and stops. He clears his throat, jolting Tony from his phone, before trying again. “You look terrible.”

A wry smile twists Tony’s mouth. “You’re one to talk.”

“See, I’d believe you but I can’t look at myself because I’m stuck in this bed so I think you’re just lying.”

Tony’s smile turns completely genuine. “You don’t think being unable to get out of bed is a good indicator of how you look?”

“I can’t see it so it’s not true.”

For a moment, they’re sitting there smiling at each other and it’s like everything is still perfect, like Steve hadn’t messed everything up. Then Tony’s smile fades. He taps nervously at his chest. There’s no hollow ringing, reminding Steve that Tony had had the reactor removed back in January.

“Look, Natasha said—” Tony stops. He sighs as he runs his hand through his hair, mussing it worse than it already is. “She said that we misunderstood each other last year. You thought one thing, I thought something different, and we broke apart the team because of that.”

He sighs again frustratedly. “I wasn’t talking about you,” he says eventually. “I was talking about me.”

Steve goes very still. He can remember the words exactly, Tony snapping that they would never work, that one of them was in love with someone who would never love them back. Tony’s watching worriedly, waiting for the moment it all clicks. And it does. It hits Steve all at once that Tony had never realized Steve was in love with him—that _Tony_ had, in fact, been in love…with Steve.

“You—you love me,” he says haltingly, still trying to process that Tony hadn’t been embarrassed by his feelings.

Tony nods, brow still creased like he’s more worried now than he was moments earlier.

“And you—what?—thought that I would hate you for that? Do you think that little of me?”

Tony looks alarmed. “No, never!” he exclaims. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Christ, Tony, you’re my friend.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says sadly. Steve can’t figure it out for a moment, why Tony looks so heartbroken. Then—

“Why do you think I left?” Tony gives him a puzzled look. “No, I’m serious. You even said that I thought something different.” He smiles fondly and reaches out to take Tony’s hand. Tony gasps softly when Steve runs his thumb over the back of his hand.

“Steve,” Tony whispers. “Don’t tease.”

“All that big brain and you never once thought that I love you too?”

“Nat said—but I didn’t want to hope.” His eyes are shining now though, big and hopeful as he looks at Steve. Steve’s certain that there’s nothing in the world he wouldn’t do to keep Tony looking at him like that.

“I know how you feel,” he assures him. “I did the same thing.” He tugs lightly on Tony’s hand. “Come here, sweetheart. I think we could both do with some cuddles.”

Tony looks at the bruise around his eye and the bandage on his ribs, all the places where the serum is slowly working to heal him because it’s so overwhelmed by all the other injuries. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m already hurt. You’re not going to make it any worse.”

Tony gives him a doubtful look but he crawls up onto the bed anyway, tucking himself up against Steve’s side. Steve reaches over with his free hand and tilts Tony’s chin up. He kisses him softly, slowly, the way he’s wanted to since the moment he met him.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. To his surprise (and delight), Tony blushes bright red.

“Love you too,” Tony mutters back.

* * *

When he wakes again a few hours later, Tony is still curled up against his side. It’s a tight fit. The hospital bed is almost certainly too small for the both of them so Tony is all but plastered against him, making that side of his body unbearably hot. The other side is freezing cold. There’s hair in his mouth where Tony’s head is pressed under his chin. The IV in his wrist is pulling slightly painfully.

It’s perfect.

* * *

_Two Years Later_

“We need a distraction,” Bucky mutters.

Steve casts a worried look at him out of the corner of his eye. Bucky and Nat are seated on the other side of the restaurant, looking for all the world like a young couple in love but with a perfect line of sight to their target. Steve and Tony are across the dining area, where they can’t see the target but _can_ see the front door, which they’re monitoring in case anyone else comes in.

Tony raises his wineglass to his lips. “A distraction?”

“Pretty sure we’ve been made.”

“Well, Bucky Bear, you are _very_ hard to miss.”

“Hey,” Steve protests lowly.

Tony gives him a bright smile and reaches over to grab his hand. “Only teasing.”

He knows he is but Tony is _his_. Bucky’s not allowed to have this one. In the back of his mind, he knows that Bucky would never try to take Tony away from him—and Tony would never agree even if he did—but he still remembers all those times the girls would turn away from him, in favor of his best friend. He still remembers Peggy in that beautiful red dress, shining like a star in that dingy pub, and the way Bucky had looked at her.

Tony’s smile turns soft and understanding. “Hey,” he murmurs, catching Steve’s attention. He leans across the table to kiss Steve gently. “I don’t mean anything by it. In fact, Bucky, you wanted a distraction, right? How’s this for a distraction?” He takes a deep, steadying breath, reaches into his pocket, clearly fishing for something, and then continues, “I’ve been carrying this around for a while now, trying to find the right time to ask you but there’s never going to be a right time.

“The first time I met you, Steve, I was struck. Struck by your charm, your blush, your rippling muscles.” He winks. Steve buries his head in his hands. “I thought I’d never met someone as sweet and earnest as you and I was so thrilled because you seemed to like me for me, not for what I could give you. That’s hard to find in this world but there you were. And then you stopped smiling at me. It was like the sun had gone away and I just thought, _what are you expecting, Tony, acting the way you have?_

“But then we met again and maybe we didn’t make a good impression on each other but that’s okay because you gave me a second chance and then a third and a fourth and a fifth. Every time I thought that that was it, I had finally convinced you to walk away, you kept coming back. I may not have loved you at first sight, maybe not even at second, but it didn’t take me long at all.”

Steve’s gaping at him now because he knows where this is going, knows what Tony’s getting ready to ask him and he can’t believe it. They’re starting to draw attention the longer Tony talks, definitely away from Bucky and Nat.

“I thought I couldn’t have anything more, thought I couldn’t _ask_ for anything more. Until you left and Steve, honey, it wasn’t the Avengers without you. I didn’t _want_ it to be the Avengers without you. So I left too. Told myself that was what I got for daring to want more than I deserved. And it might have gone on like that, except then you crashed a helicarrier into the Potomac—”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Never. That was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” Tony replies immediately. Steve lets out a wet chuckle, only realizing then that his eyes are filling with tears. “Anyway, you crashed a helicarrier and I thought I would lose you. But even that might not have been enough for me to say anything, if it wasn’t for Nat telling me that I was being stupid. I’m so glad that she did because you told me that you loved me. These past two years have been the happiest years of my life—and this is a purely selfish question by the way because I’d like to be this happy for the rest of my life but—”

He stops and pulls out a small box and kneels down beside the table. Steve can hear their waiter gasp and the woman a few tables away coo about how adorable it is.

“But, Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?”

Steve doesn’t even have to wait a moment. “You asshole! I was supposed to ask first!” He pulls out a matching box and tosses it at Tony’s head before flinging himself out of his chair to kneel beside Tony. He kisses his boyfriend—god, soon-to-be _husband_ —deeply, feeling Tony smile into the kiss.

After a moment, Tony mumbles, “That was a yes, right?”

Steve laughs, so deliriously happy he can barely believe it. “Yes.”


End file.
